Life Amaranthine
by Bekah See
Summary: I am 157 years old...When you work on the frontiers of science as long as I have, the rewards, and the curses, can be unexpected." -Dr. Helen Magnus. A tale of how Magnus came by her longevity.
1. Chapter 1

**Life Amaranthine**

**by Bekah See**

**Prologue**

_Ringing boot heels sound across the street, echoing off the cobbles, and rebounding from the deserted buildings. Wild ringlets of golden hair fly at the edges of her vision, sometimes obscuring, sometimes framing the road as it rushes by under her running feet. A corner comes into view, and the mad dash slows._

_She knows what comes next, and she fights, not wanting to see it. Not again. But resistance is futile in this world of darkness and mists, and the corner of the building comes closer of its own volition. She tries to close her eyes, to turn her head, but nothing stops the onslaught of images. The smell of blood overpowers the mustiness of the city, sharp and metallic in her mind. The street slips by, and she can feel her heels as they strike the stones beneath her, sending jarring impacts up her legs. She rounds the corner, her desperate fight to stop not slowing her at all._

_A woman comes into view. Tall and proud, her face smooth and pale, her blonde hair ornately coiled on top of her head. Sobbing silently, she moves closer to the woman, who stands motionless, awaiting her fate. Slowly now, inexorably she is drawn toward the other, and she reaches for her. The woman speaks, but her words are nothing more than a buzz filtering through the terror in her mind. Cold white hands reach out from beneath a black cloak and she looks down at them, her curls, so similar to those of the one before her, once again framing her vision. Her fingers wrap around the other's arms and pull her close. The woman offers no opposition; there is no battle for supremacy. _

_She screams soundlessly within herself, fighting, clawing, trying desperately to stop this, to keep from doing this hideous thing. But it will not stop, and all she can do is watch, horrified, as she lowers her head to the woman's neck and punctures her throat with razor sharp teeth. Hot metallic blood fills her mouth and she sucks greedily, draining every last drop from the one who gave her life._

Helen Magnus, physician and veteran of numerous gruesome fights to the death, awoke with a scream that rattled the leaded glass of her chamber in its frame. Horrified at the intensity of her dream, she raced to the washroom to lose everything she had eaten that day and significantly more. Terror ripped through her, triggering her fight or flight instinct, but she was too weak and frightened to move. So, shivering, sick with grief and self-loathing, she lowered herself to the cold marble floor and sobbed as memory came crashing over her once again. Memories of what she had done. Of what she had become.

**Chapter 1**

"He's back," Helen said flatly, walking into the library and dropping a newspaper onto a nearby table.

Dr. Robert Ransome looked up from the paper he was reading and eyed his longtime friend and associate. "Who is back?"

"That bloody bastard who killed my mother, that's who," she spat out, fury lacing her words with venom. "I heard several women down near the hospital gossiping about him and his notorious charms as if he were a knight in shining armour who is going to come and save them from the depravity of their lives." She paced furiously before the fireplace, her arms gesturing wildly as she spoke. "As if he could do anything for their lives but end them."

Ransome put down his paper and removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. At sixty five years of age, he was often the voice of caution and reason to his younger associate. Ever since the disappearance of John Druitt a few years back and then with the death of her father not long after, Helen had become reckless and easy to anger. She often took unnecessary chances with her life to capture some of the most dangerous creatures in London and its surrounding areas.

More recently she had begun to calm, and Ransome had hoped she was reverting back to her more level headed self. He feared that the appearance of the man who had killed her mother, however, was going to set her back a long way.

His concern was validated a moment later when she spoke again, "But now that he has returned, he can finally be made to answer for his crimes."

"Helen, please, you must calm yourself." The doctor steepled his fingers and looked at her over the tops. "Think about this. Do you remember how your mother died? Do you know what this man is?"

"Of course," she said, still pacing. "His name is Stephen Redding, and he is a psychotic murderer who was able to evade capture for the murder of my mother, and several others." Her voice dropped and she sat down in a chair, looking at the floor. "I know he killed them in a brutal way that leeched every drop of blood from their bodies." Tears formed in her eyes. "I remember running away, frightened to death, leaving her lying on the street, white and cold."

"Helen, her death was not your fault." Ransome said firmly. "You were very young."

"Perhaps." Helen continued to look at the floor, lost in memories of the nightmare of that night. "But things are different now. And I have the ability and the opportunity to stop him from repeating his crimes."

Ransome stood and came to kneel before her, taking her hands in his. "Helen, please listen to me. You must not peruse this man. He is as dangerous as he is evil, and he will have no compunctions about taking your life the same way he took your mother's."

Her head snapped up and her blue eyes blazed. "He can try. But as I said, I've grown up since then. I'm no longer a helpless little girl. I've taken down monsters ten times worse than this coward." Abruptly she stood, shaking off the gentle support and resumed her pacing. "I need to find a way to track him, to keep an eye on what he does day and night."

Ransome stood as well, and faced her, his hands clasped loosely before him, his head bowed. "Helen, if you are determined to do this, then there is something you need to know about your target."

"And what, pray tell, would that be?"

"Stephen Redding is a vampire."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Helen crept up the winding staircase in pitch blackness, her eyes straining to see through the gloom, hoping to find her quarry before he found her. A sound emanating from the floor above stopped her, and she crouched, straining her ears for some sense the direction from which it had come. Was he waiting at the top of the stairway or further inside the room? She knew he could be silent if he wished, so either he wanted to be heard, or he didn't realize she was there.

After hearing nothing more for several moments, Magnus continued to the last step and flattened herself against the wall of the landing, listening hard over the thumping of her heart. She was nervous, more so than when hunting any other creature thus far, barring John Druitt. She took several deep breaths to calm her racing pulse and to focus her mind, and then edged around the corner, staying in the shadows created by a large fire which roared in the hearth at the end of the chamber; a semi circle of three high backed arm chairs were arranged before it. Again she waited, senses alert for movement or sound, but all she heard was the crackling of the flames as they chased the chill from the room.

Magnus crept closer to the hearth, and, seeing that two of the chairs were unoccupied, kept her eyes on the back of the one closest to her. She gripped the sharpened hawthorn staves she held in both hands and hoped that the garlic in her pocket was still potent enough to afford her some protection.

Placing one foot silently before the other, Magnus drew around the side of the chair, balanced on her toes and ready to spring at a moment's notice. It was empty. Her eyes snapped up. There. On the opposite end of the room was a dark figure, black against the blackness of the walls.

"Dr. Magnus, I presume," came a smooth voice from the shadow in the corner. "I wondered when you would decide to call."

"Stephen Redding." She nodded to him, as if to an old acquaintance. "If you knew I was coming, why did you remain?" She knew her advantage, if she'd ever had one, was gone, but she was determined to see this through and so began to move ever so slowly toward him, keeping her knives low and hidden in the folds of her black coat.

"I wanted to meet you. I've heard much about your work."

"Then you know why I'm here."

"Perhaps, though I have to admit I'm curious as to whether you wish to kill me or cure me."

She stopped. "Is there a cure for being a…?"

"A vampire?" He chuckled, and the sound resonated around the room, sending shivers up her back and neck. "Perhaps, though I have yet to find it." He moved out of the shadows and into the firelight, showing himself to her clearly for the first time, and she had to work to cover her shock. She had not expected him to be handsome. "But I do not believe I would take it if there was." He looked from her face to her body, his eyes roving over her tight black jumpsuit. Typical ladies' wear was not conducive to capturing undead psychopaths, which is why she had chosen the outfit, but for a moment she missed the voluminous folds of her everyday clothing.

"So then, you enjoy terrorizing innocents?: she asked, trying to cover her discomfiture under his frank stare. "Do you derive pleasure from the act of ending someone's life to prolong your own?"

"Come now, my dear. Did you honestly believe it would be otherwise?"

"I had hoped," she said, watching him warily as the distance between them continued to close.

"So you did come to cure me. How touching." And before she could dispute him, he leapt, almost too fast for her to follow. She raised her hands, gripping the wooden daggers, and crouched into a defensive posture. He landed just behind her, having covered twenty feet in one jump, and, reaching around, grasped both of her forearms in a vise—like grip. He squeezed hard, forcing her fingers to open and release the daggers, which dropped to the thickly carpeted floor without a sound.

She fought him, wildly twisting and kicking, using every trick she had learned in the past ten years, trying to free herself, but he held firm, seeming not to struggle at all. Finally she stilled, her blue eyes blazing in defiance, her breath coming in gasps from her effort. He swiveled her around to face him and grinned at her horror as she watched his visage morph from smooth and handsome to otherworldly and evil.

Helen jerked back, gaining an inch, but no more. His eyes had turned the color of blood. "You are a monster."

"Am I?" He studied her, seeming to follow the lines of her face with his gaze, and she shivered, trying to look away. But then his eyes began to fill her vision, and the rest of the world faded to insignificance as desire bloomed within her mind and body. "How do you know my victims didn't enjoy themselves right up to the very end?" She could feel his breath on her face as he began to caress with hands that no longer had to restrain her.

A part of her brain screamed at her to run, to flee at all costs, but her body would not obey, nor was she sure she wanted it to. Suddenly giving herself to this man seemed like the most logical thing in the world, and her eyes slid shut of their own accord. She let her head tip back, exposing her throat, and felt his lips brush her cheek and jaw. His warm breath moved over her ear, and she gasped at the level of passion that shot through her like lightening.

"What..." she whispered, completely helpless in his grip.

"Shhh. Hush now."

A prick on her neck, a trickle of blood, wet heat on her skin, then nothing…


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Helen awoke with a jolt, sitting up and opening her eyes, only to snap them shut against the light piercing her skull. Pain flooding her head, but she now knew where she was, and allowed herself to fall heavily back against the pillows behind her.

"Robert?" she murmured, putting both palms to her closed eyelids, and wondering what had happened to render her unconscious this time..

"Dr. Magnus." came the soft reply. She sighed in relief despite the formality of his words; his voice always had a way of soothing her. "How are you feeling?"

"Mmmm, I've felt worse."

"I'm afraid that doesn't tell me much."

She sighed and took inventory. "Headache, general fatigue, soreness throughout," she dutifully recited.

"Any pain in your neck?"

"In my neck? No, why?" And memory came flooding back. Her hand flew to her throat, and she felt tiny twin puncture marks directly over her carotid artery. She fingered the wounds carefully. "I'm not dead," she said in wonder. "How did I get here?"

"I found you walking the grounds as if asleep, and managed to lead you here before you collapsed. You've been asleep for the better part of a day." He glared at her from under bushy eyebrows. "I assume you went after Redding." He waited for her nod before continuing. "Would you mind sharing what possessed you to do such a thing?"

She heard the anger in his voice, but, having expected nothing less, chose to ignore it for the moment. She held out a hand, and he took it, pulling her up. She groaned as her head, and the rest of her body, protested, but she forced herself to sit carefully at the edge of the bed. "Oh lord, my head hurts." she breathed, once again pressing her palms to her eyes.

"Here. This will help." She looked and saw a small pill cup and a glass of water being held out in front of her. "You should invest in analgesics, at the rate you consume them."

"I'll keep that in mind." She downed the pills in one swallow and then handed the glass back, noticing the bruising on her arms for the first time. She held them up and turned them over, marveling at the perfect imprints of Redding's hands on her skin.

"Those marks are going to take some time to heal. If he had squeezed any harder, he would have shattered bone."

Helen nodded her agreement, knowing Ransome was telling her off for her behaviour, but said nothing. She continued to examine her arms, then picked up a hand mirror off the table beside her and looked closely at her neck, shivering as she recalled how close she had come to death. And how willingly she had gone into it.

Ransome, mistaking her tremor for fear of injury, rushed to reassure her. "They barely scratch the surface, and are certainly not deep enough to have punctured the artery. You were fortunate."

"Perhaps. Though I have never known luck to help when it comes to revenants. In fact, I wonder if anything in the folklore will actually kill the things. They're already dead!"

"So why would you go after a vampire if you were unsure he could be killed?"

Helen took a deep breath and looked at the ground. "If left unchecked Redding will murder and feed on several victims a month. He needs to be dealt with before anyone else dies."

"But why must you be the one to do it?" Ransome pressed. "Surely there are others who are more qualified to hunt a creature such as this."

"Such as who?" Helen snorted sarcastically. "No, Robert, this is my work." He waited, knowing there was more, and her voice hardened. "And the bastard killed my mother. I want him to suffer just as she did."

Ransome frowned. "Helen, revenge is a poor excuse for putting your life at risk. I know you're still angry, even after all this time, but this may be one abnormal that cannot be beaten. You need to give this up before it gets you killed or worse."

Suddenly angry, she stood to pace the room. "No. I have yet to meet a creature that I have not been able to handle. This one will be no different." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "And I will have my revenge."

Not ready to give up, Robert tried again. "Helen, your mother died many years ago. Do not let lust for revenge cloud your judgment. It will only consume you and leave you with nothing but a hollow shell." His voice rose. "You must not do this!"

She whirled to look at him, her face contorted with rage. "You think I undertake this lightly? You think this is some whim that came into my head with Redding's return to London? Robert, I have been dreaming of this moment since my mother was killed by a phantom that left her a husk of what she was. I will make him pay for what he did. Or I will die trying."

For a moment she stood still, breathing heavily with the surge of emotion. Then her shoulders slumped and she bowed her head. "Robert, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be harsh with you. But ever since John vanished, I feel as if I am responsible for the people of this city. I allowed myself to be completely taken in by him while he killed eight women right under my nose. It is my fault he escaped justice. I will not let that happen again. I must bring this monster down. I owe it to myself, and I owe it to her."

Two nights later, she was ready. She had spent the last couple of days poring over every reference book in her substantial library that dealt with revenants in any way, and with the ease only experience can bring, had whittled down the amazing cacophony of cultural devices to a select few that seemed to show themselves time and again: holy water, daggers of hawthorn wood, and the knowledge that they could not abide sunlight nor set foot on sacred ground. Based on those assumptions, she developed the sketch of a plan.

Never before had she had so little to go on when hunting one of her creatures. Never before had she been so unsure whether she could win the battle. Thus she chose her weapons and her fighting grounds carefully. She knew he had only whetted his appetite the other night, and that he would be wanting more. It was nearly time for him to feed. Hopefully, he would be so concentrated on her that he would not go after someone else.

Magnus stepped from her home into the brisk night, armed with her small arsenal of selected weaponry, and watched for a moment as her breath frosted in the cold. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and savoring the bite of the bitter wind as it entered and cleansed her lungs, and perhaps, her soul. She knew she could easily die this night. But the fight would be worth it, and she ruthlessly squashed the nervousness fluttering in her stomach.

Helen walked quickly out into the darkness, navigating mostly by the moonlight filtering down through the mists, and by the orange flicker of the street lamps as they struggled to illuminate the slick cobblestones. She walked quickly, not knowing how long it would take him to find her; she wanted to reach her destination before he did.

She almost didn't make it. She had just rounded the last corner to the place she had selected to make her stand when she sensed movement behind her and whirled, cloak whipping past as she tensed, eyes roving through the darkness.

And there he was. Looking less than human, he bared his fangs in a grotesque smirk and walked slowly toward her. "So, Dr. Magnus," he hissed quietly, "you have returned. That was unwise."

Helen stayed where she was, not moving, but watching and waiting. She needed him to come to her. "Why did you let me go?"

He cocked his head, his smile broadening at the question. "Ah, why indeed? If you must know, I have found it to be infinitely more satisfying to have just the tiniest taste of the blood of a woman, and then to wait until the hunger is more than I can bear before taking the rest. It makes the process much more exciting, don't you think?" He continued to move toward her until he came within a few feet, then circled like a trainer observing a new animal. "But what of you, my dear? Why did you return? Did you honestly believe that I could be defeated?"

Still not moving, she watched him warily as he came around from behind her to her right side. Then, as quick as she could, she struck out, reversing her wooden blade so that it pointed backward out of her hand, and aimed for his chest. He caught her fist easily in one hand, and gripped hard enough to make her gasp and cry out, but this time she was ready. Using the momentum generated when he pulled her violently toward him, she slammed her hidden second blade up into his chest where his heart should have been. "You killed my mother. You deserve to die." she whispered harshly, driving the point in as deep as it would go and twisting to be sure it stuck. Blood flowed over her hand and his eyes widened in shock. Gasping, he released her, staggering back and grasping the stave now driven deep into his torso.

"Well well," he murmured, dropping heavily to his knees. "It seems the little cat has claws after all." He gripped the wooden knife and pulled hard, grimacing as it slid from the wound. "Unfortunately, these claws are not enough to destroy those such as myself."

Declining to answer the challenge, Helen pulled out the small vial of blessed water and, pulling the cork, she threw its contents, hitting him full in the face as he started to stand. Once again he fell, clutching his face with his hands, screaming as smoke issued from between his fingers. Reaching wildly behind his back, he tore his cloak from his shoulders and used it to dry his face of the burning liquid.

Helen stayed in her defensive posture, unsure if of what to expect. But a moment later, he lowered the cloth in his hands, and she saw the last of the burns healing into smooth unblemished skin.

"Very good, my dear." He balled up the cloak and tossed it away. "However, the water only burns while it touches me, and, as you can see, it is easily wiped away." He rose gracefully and started toward her once more.

Helen swallowed hard, fear beginning to pound through her in earnest, but she forced herself to think. Panic would not serve her here. Her only two weapons had proven to be less effective than she had hoped, and she was now fairly sure the holy ground issue was going to be moot as well. Unfortunately it was all she had left. Or perhaps not. Despite his bravado, the stave had at least slowed him, and she still had one in her hand. The church grounds were not far behind her, but she forced herself to walk slowly, knowing that if she turned and ran, he would be on her in a moment. She began to speak, hoping to distract him from rushing her.

"Do you remember my mother?" she asked icily. "Do you remember what you did to her? How you used her precious life to continue your own wretched miserable existence?"

He followed cautiously, eyeing her knife in a casual way, but keeping his distance for now. "Perhaps I do. You look much like she did, do you not?"

Helen nodded, still backing away. "So I've been told."

"What else were you told, little one? That I stole her in the night? That I made her beg and plead for mercy as I sucked the life from her veins? That I left you, her only child, screaming in terror on the side of the road, bereft of the mother that loved you?"

She nodded again, tears beginning to sting her eyes. She dashed them away with a hand. She had asked the question, and was not about to allow herself to be distracted by grief and hatred. "Yes. That is what I was told."

He grinned, his face sharp and feral, his teeth flashing in the lamplight as he continued to follow her. "Your mother was a beautiful woman. She sustained me for a long time." And he leapt, flying high over her head and coming down behind. She watched him descend and maneuvered around to give herself some room. As soon as he hit the ground, she crouched low and felt his arms whip over her head as he lunged. Quickly, she slashed at his legs with her knife, parting flesh and scraping bone. Then she turned and ran. Away from the church she had been inching toward, and the nightmare that had blocked her way. She could hear his howl of pain and fury as he dropped to the ground, clutching his wounded appendage.

There was another smaller church about a mile away, and she headed for it, feeling the cold sting of the wind on her face as she bolted, fear lending her speed she would not normally have had. Her breath was coming hard and fast now, but still she didn't slow. Movement from above made her look up just as a dark shadow began to descend. She dodged to the right, ducking under an arch covering a side street, and kept going. There was another route to her destination, but it required moving through residential districts. As much as she hated leading this monster toward the homes of sleeping innocents, she had no choice. Out in the open she was an easy target for the inhuman speed of the revenant. Here, she could duck and dodge behind homes and trees and the like, thus taking some of his speed out of the equation. She continued to run, feeling her lungs burning as her feet tore over the ground.

Looking back, she saw him, coming fast, right behind her. Cutting to the left, she dashed onto a new property, hoping to lose him again in the brush that covered the area. She heard a cry of rage and pain come from behind and risked a backward glance. Redding was on the ground, writhing in agony at the border of the property she was running across. She didn't waste time to wonder what had slowed him; her goal in sight. The church loomed cold and dark before her, its pillars standing tall and proud in the moonlight.

Putting on one last burst of speed, she sprinted toward the stone steps and scrambled up, then stopped, breathing hard from her headlong rush to safety. Gripping her knife, she hid halfway behind one of the monumental pillars, watching for the shadow among shadows that would show her he was coming. There. His dark shape coming from a different angle than she had, moving fast, but not as quick as he might have. Finally he came into full view as he stepped into a pool of light thrown by a weak street lamp. The orange flicker from the flame caught the harsh, inhuman angles of his face, making him look more like the monster he was with each passing second.

"So you thought you could escape, did you?" he roared, looking right at her in the shadow of the pillar.

She stepped out, knowing he could see her despite the darkness. Gripping her knife, she squared her shoulders and faced him head on, her anger and need to see him dead holding her straight despite the terror racing through her. "You cannot cross the boundary," she cried, her voice shaking with exertion and fear. "Even you, with all your supposed power, cannot walk here. This is where it ends."

"Is it, now?" Redding said, a feral grin parting his lips to show his fangs. With exaggerated care, he lifted a leg, and deliberately stepped from the sidewalk onto the grounds of the church. "And what makes you think there is anything here than could possibly hurt me?"

Helen's breath caught in her throat and she wondered if she was about to die. Dread filled her as she watched him begin to walk toward the stone steps, for this had been her last hope. Lure him to holy ground and then anger him so that he would come after her and die upon this soil. But it was not working. Faster now, he strode up the path, then leapt to land before her in a blur of white flesh and heavy black cloth.

Quickly, he relieved her of her hawthorn stave and flung in away, then used the front swing of the same motion to cuff her, hard, across the face. She cried out as she twisted and fell, blood running from her lip to spatter on the spotless marble of the portico.

She lifted a hand to wipe it away, but he caught it and held fast, pulling her up and eyeing the blood with eager hunger.

She kept her eyes averted, not wanting to repeat her previous experience with him. She was determined that if she was to die, it would be with her mind intact. She owed her mother that much.

"Look at me," he breathed, his mouth close her ear, his breath hot as it danced over her skin. She said nothing, closing her eyes against the compulsion to obey. She felt him lick the blood from her lips and chin, heard his gasp as the tang of her life source filled his mouth.

"Look at me." Again he breathed over her, lightly kissing her with lips covered in her own blood.

She swallowed hard, fighting the lethargy that stole through her body, sapping her will to live. It would be so much easier to just look. To simply give in and look at the one who was about to take her life, like he had her mother's. But she held firm and kept her eyes closed.

His breath wandered down her jaw line, but when she tried to turn her head away, he caught her chin in his hand and gently but firmly brought her back to face him. Slowly, despite her resolve to not look at him, she began to feel passion igniting within her. She groaned, trying to fight her need to give in, but found herself tilting her head for him as he kissed down her neck to her throat where she could feel him linger. His body tensed under her hands, and though some of her fear returned, she didn't pull away. The fight was gone from her, and she was resigned to her fate. Her eyes flew open as sharp teeth punctured her skin, but there was no pain. There was only the feel of his lips on her neck, and a sensation of falling. His hands continued to caress even as he consumed her, holding her up when her legs buckled, no longer having the strength to hold.

Her vision tunneled, going black at the edges, and she heard herself gasping as if from a long way off. Just as she was about to close her eyes, giving in to the pervasive fatigue that was overtaking her, she saw movement darting toward them from the side of the courtyard. Then her eyes closed, and there was nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Helen came to awareness came slowly and painfully, her eyes fluttering open as she regained consciousness. Pain wracked her body and she groaned, trying to shift, to move, anything to ease the agony.

A mop of silver hair capping a lined and craggy face swam into view above her. Hazel eyes gazed intently down into her own and gentle hands touched her cheek and forehead.

"How are you feeling?" the stranger asked in a quiet voice.

Helen licked her lips, trying to work up enough moisture to speak. A cup of cool water touched her mouth and a careful hand on the back of her head lifted so she could sip.

"Thank you." she croaked when she was done. He lowered her back to her pillow and she breathed deeply, trying to banish some of the pounding behind her eyes. "Where am I?"

"You are in my home. You are safe here." said the stranger.

"And you are?"

"My name is Caleb Strongson."

Helen worked the name around her mind, trying to remember if she had heard it before, and decided she hadn't. "How did I come to be here? How long was I unconscious?"

"I was able to force the vampire to release you, but you were close to death, and so I brought you here to rest and recover. You slept for a day and a night."

The first portion of his sentence penetrated her foggy mind. "You forced him?" she asked, astounded even in her weakness. "However did you manage that?"

"I have some experience with revenants, and this one in particular."

Helen pushed herself up, crying out as pain stabbed through her left shoulder, and she fell back, sweating, but held onto her questions. She wanted from her mysterious savior. "You've dealt with Stephen Redding before? When? How?"

"Slow down, my dear, or you will overexert yourself. You lost a lot of blood in that battle, and your shoulder was injured when you were knocked to the ground. It will take time for your body to recover."

She took a deep breath, trying to still her impatience and to control the throbbing of her head and shoulder. "Please, this is important. I need to know how you've dealt with Redding in the past. It is imperative that he be killed or banished from this place. Many lives are at stake."

"Do not lecture me on the lives that this monster has taken." Strongson said, his voice suddenly strong and firm. "I have seen so many good people lost to his monstrous appetite that I will never again sleep the whole night through. Believe me when I say, I know what is at stake as long as he is at large." Then he sighed. "I had not realized the vampire had returned to London, and I fear a great slaughter is coming." He looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Will you tell me your name?"

"Of course, forgive me. I am Dr. Helen Magnus."

A smile broke out over his face. "Ah, a doctor, eh? And a woman at that, how wonderful. Tell me, what form of medicine do you practice?"

Helen hesitated a moment, wondering how much of her work she should reveal to this man. But if he truly had fought vampires in the past, he was more likely to believe her and was even a potential ally. Grimacing as pain lanced through her head with every beat of her heart, she forced herself to speak.

"I practice many forms of medicine, though most often I deal in forensics and terrology." Then, seeing his questioning look, she went on. "It is my business to find and, if possible, to take in and protect the beings of this world who are considered 'abnormal'. To offer those who are rejected by humans a chance at a life without fear of being hunted."

"And when it comes to those such as Stephen Redding, who cannot or will not agree to ending their violent ways?"

"Some will relocate to an uninhabited area where they can cause no harm to humans, and some, such as Mr. Redding, must be destroyed."

Caleb looked at her for a moment, taking her measure before speaking. "Thank you for being honest with me, Dr. Magnus. Now I feel I can return the kindness." He took a deep breath. "I have been hunting Stephen Redding for most of my life. Having been given a means of fighting him, I have been able to save many lives, though the number is not as high as I would like it to be. Unfortunately, delaying him is all I can do. He is an undead being. He cannot be killed.

Helen ignored the last statement. "What means do you have of driving him from his meals?"

Caleb sighed, then rose and left the room without another word. Exhausted and nauseated, Helen closed her eyes and tried to rest. After a few moments, the old man reentered the room with something in his hands. Magnus started to rise, but he gestured her back and sat down next to her, holding out a sharpened metal rod about the length of her forearm..

"It's called a roka" he said simply.

Helen took it from him, studying it. It was smooth, and pointed at both ends, with no hilt or other decoration. Gleaming dully in the firelight, its dark silver surface was cold and sterile even in the warmth of the room.

"It's pewter, is it not?." Helen said, turning the rod over in her hands. Caleb nodded. "How does it work?"

"There appears to be something about the properties of pewter that, when it comes into contact with certain revenants, causes them extreme pain and debilitates them for a time. This in and of itself is not enough to completely destroy it of course, but it does give ample opportunity for the victim to escape."

"I'm not interested in escaping until Redding is dead." Helen said flatly, running her eyes over the smooth metal. "What happens if the vampire is stabbed with this?"

"I do not know." Caleb answered, looking concerned at her determination to once again put her life at risk. "The rod will not penetrate their flesh."

"Is it possible that if the rod were to do so, that it would destroy them completely?"

"As I said, I do not know. I have never been able to do such a thing."

Helen rolled over and stood at the edge of the bed, fighting the weakness and nausea that crashed over her in waves. She leaned onto the mattress, supporting herself on her arms and closed her eyes. Eventually the spell passed, and she stood up straight, though even with her unusual height she was forced to look up at Caleb to meet his eyes.

Caleb, looking distressed at her unwillingness to lie still, said, "Please, Dr. Magnus, you must rest so that you may return to your home while the sun is still high, and then stay there to complete your recovery. Being drained of much of your body's blood supply is not a thing to be trifled with."

"I am grateful for your concern, as well as your assistance, Goodman Strongson,"

"Caleb, please," he insisted.

She inclined her head. "Very well, Caleb. However, I assure you, I am fine." She looked at the rod, still gripped tightly in her hands. "I do, however, have one favor to ask of you."

"You may ask," Caleb said suspiciously, "though I cannot promise to grant your wish."

"I need to borrow this." Helen held out the roka, watching his face as it fell upon hearing her request.

"You're going after Redding, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"And I suppose there is nothing I can say to deter your course?"

Helen smiled sadly and shook her head slightly. "I'm afraid not."

He sighed heavily. "Very well. But if you insist on doing this thing, then there is something you need to know about that weapon."

"Oh?" Helen was only half listening, spinning the rod in her hands and testing its balance as she leaned against the bed for support.

"The roka, for reasons I do not understand, acts as a conduit between the one who wields it and the victim of the attack. When it is used, a transfer occurs between the two beings who are linked through it."

"What sort of transfer?"

"It is impossible to predict. Any facet of either being can travel through the roka and since this vampire is first and foremost dead, it is very possible for that trait to be translated through the weapon and kill you where you stand."

Helen said nothing, but simply looked at the polished metal rod, turning it over and over in her hands. "I understand." Then a thought occurred to her. "How many times have you used the roka?"

Caleb looked saddened. "Many more than I can count. On beings you cannot begin to imagine."

"You'd be surprised how much I can imagine." Helen murmured. Then more audibly, "Why have you not been affected?"

"What makes you believe I have not been affected?"

Helen looked him over. "I see no signs of sickness or other problems."

"Dr. Magnus, how old do you believe me to be?"

She thought for a moment, weighing his craggy face, silvered hair and stooped posture."

"At a guess, I would say about seventy-five," she said carefully, wondering where this was going.

Caleb smiled slightly. "My dear, I will be forty-four at my next birthday." He paused as her eyes widened. "That is the exchange between myself and the undead. They take my years, and in turn I acquire a little of their strength, which is why I am able to continue the fight. Now, knowing this, are you certain this is the course of action you wish to undertake?"

Helen looked down at the roka again. Was it worth it? Was this desire for revenge worth an early death, worth the best years of her life? What if the transfer was something much more sinister? What if she suddenly had the desire to feed on the blood of the living? Or the fear of sunlight? Or the visage of a vampire? Were those consequences worth the price of her revenge? She thought briefly of the embryo she had frozen, waiting to be brought into the world. What of her responsibility to her unborn child?

Then a memory, long forgotten, flashed through her mind. Her mother, lying cold and white on the cobblestone street, her hand stretched out toward her daughter, who huddled, forgotten in a nearby ally, shaking with terror.

A heartbeat later, her decision was made. This monster must be stopped, no matter the cost. She looked straight into Caleb's hazel eyes. "I have never been so certain of anything in my life."

He nodded, as if he had expected her response. "Very well. However, you cannot fight him until night returns. Please stay in my home until then. You need to eat and rest if you are to have any hope of facing him without falling down."

Helen smiled, knowing the truth of his words. "Thank you, Caleb. Your offer is most generous, and I do believe a little rest would do me good."

Helen spent a peaceful day sleeping and eating as much as her rebellious stomach would allow. She was still alarmingly weak, but the nourishment helped and by midnight, she was stronger, though nowhere near where she should have been. Somewhere in her mind she knew it was foolhardy to do this now, when she so obviously needed more time to recover, but she pushed the thought aside. She wanted to get it over with, and waiting another day was not an option.

Once she was dressed and ready, she headed for the door, Caleb following in her wake. "I feel I must ask you one more time to reconsider this course of action, Helen." Caleb said, wringing his hands. "You need more time to heal."

Magnus smiled warmly and took his hands in hers. "I will never forget your generosity, Caleb. But I must do this tonight. I can wait no longer. I'm sorry."

He ducked his head briefly. "Then I bid you fare well, Helen Magnus, and may God light your path."

Smiling at him as he opened the door for her, she stepped out into the drizzle of the night. Once outside, she realized where she was. It was the same house whose boundaries had caused Redding so much pain the night before.

"Another question, Caleb, before I go?" Helen said, turning back to him. He nodded. "Last night, as I fled the vampire, I crossed your property, as it was the shortest route to the nearby church. However, when Redding attempted to follow me, he was stopped by some force that would not allow him to pass. Why is the vampire not able to come here? What stopped him?"

Caleb smiled and spread his hands. "This is holy ground," he said simply.

Helen looked around, but saw no evidence of any shrines or other religious artifacts. "How so?" she asked.

He answered her with a question of his own. "Helen, what do you believe is the definition of 'holy ground'?"

She shrugged. "I suppose it would be the presence or blessing of a holy being such as God."

"Exactly. And where do you suppose God resides?"

She looked across at the massive stone church that served this portion of the city. "In there. In the places that were created to worship him."

Caleb shook his head. "No, my dear. Man made structures cannot house one such as he." He tapped his chest. "God resides in here. Within the people who worship and serve him. That is why the undead cannot cross this boundary. God's presence here makes this holy ground."

Helen stared at the old man for a time, trying to sift through what he had just said, then gave up and filed it away to think about later. "I see."

"Of course you don't." Caleb said, smiling sadly. "But perhaps someday you will."

Helen nodded and turned away, vanishing into the mists.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

She moved quickly into the ever increasing downpour, stashing the Roka beneath her jacket and sliding her remaining hawthorn dagger, which Caleb had retrieved for her, into its sheath in the sleeve of her black coat. She knew she wouldn't have to go far to catch Redding's attention. She had just rounded another corner, not walking in any particular direction when a voice spoke out of the darkness and rain.

"We meet again, Dr. Magnus. For the last time, I hope."

A shadow extracted itself from the outlines of a nearby building and glided toward her.

"That is my hope as well, Redding." Lightning cracked overhead, throwing his features into sharp relief, and Magnus caught her breath and the demonic sight. But then her fear left her, replaced by cold hard anger and deadly sharp focus.

A moment passed, then two, and he was on her and she had no more time to think. Just barely managing to avoid his first two blows, she spun and landed a roundhouse kick to his head, sending him stumbling back a step, and giving herself some room to breathe. She was not so lucky in his second pass. Three strikes in quick succession caught her in the chin, temple and cheek respectively, sending her crashing to the ground, bleeding profusely. She tried to crawl away, knowing she was an easy target, but a foot came out of the darkness, and connected with her stomach, forcing all the air out of her lungs and leaving her gasping on the cobblestone street. Pain arced through her head and chest as she fought to stay conscious. Going under now would mean the death of her.

A fist came down out of the rain and Magnus dodged blindly to the side, kicking out reflexively with her feet. His hand smashed into the ground just before his legs were swept out from underneath him, and he fell with a grunt of surprise. Helen used the diversion to scramble away and rise, wiping water and blood from her face, and trying to get her bearings. The beating she was receiving coupled with her recent blood loss was taking its toll, and she knew she wouldn't last long. She was going to have to strike quickly if she had any chance at all.

Standing slowly, Redding turned to her and advanced. "Fool," he hissed, his voice dripping with scorn. "You should have stayed where you were. I couldn't have touched you there." For a moment, she was confused, then she realized he was speaking of Caleb's home. "In another day I would have been forced to feed again, and you would have been safe for a time. Time enough to recover from your unfortunate ordeal last night. But now, here you are, weakened and slow, just waiting for me to take you. Is that what you want? You wish to die?"

Helen stayed where she was, an idea forming in her mind. But in order for it to work, she needed him to be close, and she knew all too well the danger that came with that plan. She had no other, however, so she steeled herself for what she knew would come as he drew near.

Bowing her head, she spread her hands slightly to the sides, palms out so he could see they were empty. "Yes, Stephen, I wish to die. I have failed in my desire to avenge my mother. Death will be a release."

Redding hesitated, watching her warily. She knew he was hungry. He had been waiting to feed. Waiting for her. As he came closer, she lowered her arms and raised her head, catching his eyes with hers. Immediately the dark desire that was becoming all too familiar began to creep into her mind, trying to banish all other thoughts. She fought it, silently reciting cellular functions and muscle placements to keep her mind clear.

Silently, she let the hawthorn dagger slip into her left palm and her right hand slid slightly under her coat, the rain and accompanying flashes of lightning masking her movements. Unaware of her covert movements, he came within a hand's breadth of her, looking down into her eyes. She could just make out the red of his irises, and she concentrated on the color, fighting for all she was worth to keep her sanity.

Once again he breathed over her like a lover, the tang of his breath metallic in her nostrils. Helen swallowed hard, forcing down the desire threatening to overwhelm her. His hands came up to her face, caressing the lines of her cheeks and jaw. He touched the wounds he had created a few moments before, and tsked at her. "It is a shame to mar such a beautiful visage as yours, Helen. Forgive me. I will make it up to you." He leaned down, using his hands to push her chin up. His lips trailed lightly down her neck, just barely touching, and she shuddered. She felt his smile on her skin and knew he had mistaken the involuntary reaction for passion.

Then she noticed her head was clearing. No longer did blind desire rage just beneath the surface, needing to be constantly smothered to keep it from overtaking her. What was different this time?

Then she knew. It was the roka. It must have been siphoning some of the emotions flowing into her, thereby freeing her from some of the intoxicating effects. She wasted no more time, not knowing how long the boon would last. Quick as lightning, she struck with the hawthorn dagger lunging in and pulling up as hard as she could to open a large gash in his chest. Predictably, he grabbed her hand and squeezed hard, then twisted brutally until something popped and she screamed in pain. He pulled the knife, still held in her hand, from his chest and, without moving from his position, he whispered in her ear.

"Ah, and here I thought you were smarter than this, my dear. You've already learned that this cannot kill me. Nothing can kill me." And he growled low in his throat, opening his mouth to shrike. Helen pulled the roka from her coat and plunged it into the cavity created by the stave. She tried to let go of the rod, hoping to avoid the exchange Caleb had warned her about, but her hand was stuck fast.

Redding immediately released her and stumbled back a step, shock written all over his face.

"What have you done?" he shrieked, dropping to his knees as blue lightning ignited along the rod, connecting revenant and human. Helen followed him down, agony racing along her nerves and setting every part of her on fire with anguish. She opened her mouth to scream, unable to keep the torment at bay. On and on it went, until her whole world was nothing but crushing burning agony, and she felt herself slipping away into blackness.

And then it was gone. The roka dropped from her nerveless fingers and clattered to the cobblestones. Slowly, as if in a dream, Helen felt herself falling to the ground. She hit hard, harder than she should have considering how slowly she seemed to be moving , and stayed there, her shoulder and wrist screaming, the rain battering her face, her eyes turned toward the vampire, who lay near her, motionless and unseeing.

Blood flowed from the wound in his chest, covering the ground between them. It snaked toward her, too thick to be washed away by the rain still coming down in sheets. Helen watched with morbid fascination as it moved toward her, then overtook her, soaking her already drenched clothes and hair and turning them red.

She had no idea how long she lay in her bed of blood and water. She only knew time was passing, for the vampire's wound slowly healed and life came back to his face. She watched as he rose to his feet and looked down at her, a strange expression on his face, and knew the end had come. She could not defend herself. Could not even rise to meet her death on her feet. But instead of moving toward her, Redding began to back away, then turned and vanished into the darkness. She stared through the rain into the shadows of the buildings that surrounded her, searching for some sign that he was still near, waiting for her to rise and continue a fight she could not win.

Magnus rolled to her side and tried to rise, but knifing pain flashed through her side, and she fell back with a cry. His kick to her stomach must have broken a rib as well as severely bruising her diaphragm. She grimaced at the thought. There were some drawbacks to being a doctor. Darkness began to crowd into her mind, and she blacked out.

"Helen."

Someone was patting her cheek and pouring water on her face. She batted at the disturbance irritably, wanting to slip back into the warm blackness that was quickly retreating from her grasp.

"Helen, you must wake up, my dear."

More cheek patting and water, and finally she opened her eyes. Caleb looked down at her from under a large black umbrella, which he had covered her with once he saw she was awake.

"Caleb?" she croaked, trying to sit up, and once again failing.

"Yes, it's me. You look terrible." He put one hand under her shoulders and hauled her to her feet, then held her close as she swayed dizzily. Some part of her mind registered the strength of his action.

"Redding is gone," she mumbled into his coat, swallowing hard to keep her stomach from erupting.

"Yes, I know."

She looked up at him. "You know? How do you know?"

Caleb gazed down at her, looking tired and grieved. "He came to see me just before he left London."

"He came to see you?" Belatedly she realized she was stupidly repeating everything he was saying. "What did he say?"

"He said he was leaving, and that you had doomed him to an eternity of misery and torment."

"I did? How did I do that?" Helen shook her head to try to clear it, but immediately regretted the action as she began to sway again. Caleb tightened his grip on her.

"Through the roka. Evidently the element that was transferred to him from you was compassion. A sense of morality and of knowing what he was doing when he killed."

"So he can no long prey on people?" She inwardly frowned at the way her voice was slurring. There must be some head trauma on top of her other injuries.

"I do not know, Helen," Caleb said in answer to her question. "Murder is a part of who he is. But perhaps he will not be so cavalier about who he takes to feed upon."

"Well, that's something at least."

"Indeed it is. You did well, Helen Magnus." She smiled into his chest, but stopped when she heard a sob catch in his throat. She looked up again. "Caleb, what is the matter?" He just looked at her, tears trickling down his face as he held the umbrella protectively over both of them. Fear began to gnaw at her stomach again. She swallowed hard. "Caleb, what did the roka take from Redding?"

He clenched his teeth and shook his head, unwilling to say a word.

"Caleb, please, tell me what the roka took. What did it give me?"

The old man, now looking much older than he had earlier that night, swallowed and choked out a single word, "Life."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

She stood in the middle of the dark street, her hands held out at her sides, her face thrown up into the driving rain. She relished the soaking, felt the blood sluice off her skin and clothes into the gutter below. She imagined it mixing with the purity of the rainwater, swirling around her feet before finally rushing down the storm drain and out into the blackness of the sewers. If only she could clean the taint from her soul with such ease.

"Life," he had said. And, not understanding, she had forced him to explain it to her. She groaned aloud as she remembered what he had said.

"_Your fate is much worse than mine, Helen."_

_She had buried her face in his chest. "Am I to die, then?"_

"_No, my dear. You are to live. Vampires are immortal. They never die. You have taken some of this attribute into yourself, and though I do not believe you will never perish, it will not be for many centuries to come. You are doomed to watch everything you know and love wither away around you, while you stay as you are, young and beautiful."_

_Horrified, her mind unable to comprehend what he was telling her, Helen had stumbled to her feet, and ran out into the night, away from the damning words she was hearing, Caleb calling after her in the dark._

Lightning flashed before her eyes followed almost immediately by a peal of thunder that shook the windows of the dilapidated buildings around her, but she did not flinch, did not even move. The rain continued to wash over her, cooling her fevered skin even as the rage built up within her body, burning in her stomach, and creeping up her sides and back, until she began to shake with the intensity of it. She was aware of water droplets on her lips, then on her tongue as she opened her mouth to scream, shattering the sodden peace of the deserted street. Her cry echoed off the brick and mortar, returning to her sounding frightened and forlorn. She dropped to her knees, her back bowing under the weight of what she had done.

Time slowed, and Helen continued to kneel on the rough stones, the rain beating on her back and neck. She knew she should get inside. Go back to Caleb's home and dry off before she caught a chill. She chuckled to herself. Could she still become ill? Her chuckle turned to a full laugh, then to a screech of madness, and she knew she was losing her mind. What had she done? Her arrogance had cost her everything, and now here she sat raving like a loon in the middle of the street in the pouring rain.

"Helen," came a voice from the shadows. Magnus jumped to her feet, and swayed a little as the world spun. Her legs trembled uncontrollably and she dropped to one knee, then forced herself up again.

Redding walked slowly into the light of a street lamp and stopped several yards from her. She could see him clearly. Perhaps the rain was letting up, or perhaps the ability to see in the dark was another side effect of the transfer.

"What do you want?" she said, her voice strident and harsh. "What more could you possibly want from me?"

"Your forgiveness."

Helen stumbled again, this time in shock, and Redding started forward as if to catch her, but stopped himself before he'd moved more than an inch. Helen opened her mouth, but all she could manage was, "You want what?"

"Your forgiveness, Helen. I have wronged you. I took your mother from you, I tried to murder you, not once but three times."

Anger burned white hot through her body, giving her the strength to stand. But just as she opened her mouth to rage at him, it left her in a rush. They were the same now. He had condemned her to a long and lonely life fated to watch her loved ones die over and over, but she had damned him to an eternity of desperately needing to feed on human blood, but of feeling the morality of doing so. It seemed a fair exchange.

"Very well." she said, exhausted and swaying. "You have it."

"Thank you, Helen. Perhaps we will meet again someday. Farewell." And he was gone, melting into the shadows as if he never existed.

Magnus started back the way she had come, her feet dragging, her mind numb. At some point Caleb met her and carried her all the way to her home, where he handed her over to Ransome. The two men exchanged solemn words, and Caleb promised to come check on her in the morning.

Robert carried Helen up to her room and stripped off her wet and bloody clothes. He dressed her in a warm nightgown and bundled her up in blankets before the fire. As she warmed and dried off, Ransome gaped silently at her, noting the change in her appearance. Her hair was now straight and very dark, and where the blood from the vampire had mingled with it, a vibrant pink streak now shone out of the brown mass. But he kept quiet. There would be enough time to tell her when she had somewhat recovered.

Helen was exhausted, but her body would not rest. Too much had happened in such a short time, and she had not had any time to process any of it. Tears came unbidden to her eyes and silent sobs wracked her body. Robert held her close, stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort to her. Finally, she drifted off to sleep, to dream in nightmares, and to remember.


End file.
